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Throughout the talk Mr Stranger is given the opportunity to give his take on what happened that night and describes how initially he didn’t believe he had done anything wrong, but over time has lived to regret the attack.

My first thought is that this man, this self-confessed rapist, should not be allowed anywhere near this incredibly brave woman.

What gives him the right to share the stage with Ms Elva? Why should we listen to him rationalise what he did? Hasn’t he done enough damage?

But after the initial flash of anger I started to explore the nuances of the tour. This talk is something which Ms Elva has consensually constructed and it undoubtedly has made up part of her healing process.

In a perverse sense it is a way for her to control how her story is told rather than letting it fester in secretive whispers and hushed conversations.

Most psychologists advocate addressing traumatic events rather than burying them, so in a logical sense you can see why she might want to confront her rapist.

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And just because a public lecture isn’t how I imagine I might deal with an attack, who am I to put my hypothetical ideals on to someone else?

Once I made peace with the basis of the “South of Forgiveness”, I started to think of the wider positive effects.

Since the talk was uploaded on the TED YouTube channel dozens of women have contacted Ms Elva to say that they have found the strength to address their own attacks after listening to her account.

Offering a voice or a beacon to people who have endured one of the most destructive of human acts can only be something which should be celebrated.

Moreover, the numerous headlines and endless column inches given over to the lecture may prompt a necessary shift in social perceptions of rape.

For too long women and men have been fed the line that rape happens in a darkened alley by a sex-crazed stranger who stalks their victims like prey.

In reality 90 per cent of recorded rapes in the UK are carried out by persons known to the victim according to statistics from the charity Rape Crisis.

And while horrific chance rapes do take place by unknown perpetrators, Mr Stranger proves that our monstrous internal stock image of a rapist is a delusion.

There are multiple reasons why we believe in the shadowy figure of a rapist. Partly it is due to the media and the tight reporting restrictions which are in place to protect rape survivors, but we also need to accept that we buy into this image out of self-preservation.

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It is almost too distasteful to think that the ordinary man who you sit next to at work might have raped someone, or the person who regularly serves you coffee has forced another to perform sexual acts against their will.

It is not my aim to scare people or make anyone unnecessarily afraid, and fortunately many people who read this will not be raped.

But we need to stop victim blaming by holding frank and open conversations about what is happening in the mind of a rapist before they attack.

Do they believe they are owed something from the victim, as in the case of Mr Stranger? Are they fully aware of the act they are about to commit?

By listening to Mr Stranger’s account, however offensive we find it, we might be able to learn how to better educate people about consent and prevent future rapes from taking place.

Much of what Mr Stranger has to say is hard to stomach. I do find it problematic that he is given equal time and weight as Ms Elva to describe his version of events. And the irony has not escaped me that this report is more focused on him rather than the courage of Ms Elva.

We must not praise Mr Stranger for his involvement in the talk or speak of his bravery. To stand up and publically admit to the abhorrent and systematic rape which he inflicted on a vulnerable teenager is the very least he can do for her.

But equally we should not ignore him.

As Ms Elva says during her talk, “the only thing that could have stopped me being raped that night was the man who raped me.”